“What did you say?”
Xander’s voice sank low, each syllable cutting through the hall like a wolf’s growl before the strike. The air thickened with primal tension, the kind that made even low-ranking pack members lower their heads and bare their throats.
Everyone in the Ashveil Manor knew that speaking of that night was forbidden—
the night when the Moonfire Ridge burned, when Xander lost his father, and his little sister was taken by rogues, only to be found lifeless beneath the Blood Moon the next dawn.
And yet, here it was—dragged into the open.
Ravenna’s slender finger trembled as she pointed toward the jade talisman hanging from Elara’s throat. Its faint emerald glow pulsed like living moonlight—the kind of charm said to be blessed by the Moon Goddess herself.
Her voice dripped with honeyed poison. “This… this belongs to me.”
Elara’s brows furrowed. “What nonsense are you talking…”
She didn’t finish. The old house-nurse—an omega who had served the Ashveil line for decades—suddenly dropped to her knees, trembling. “Alpha… I cannot keep the truth anymore.”
The murmurs in the grand hall stilled.
“This morning, Luna Elara ordered the attendants to rip apart Lady Ravenna’s dresses,” the omega choked. “She mocked her, saying her brother was a cripple, cursed by the Moon, and then…” her voice wavered, “…she struck Lady Ravenna and snatched her necklace, claiming a low-born stray like her didn’t deserve such a treasure.”
The air split with shocked gasps.
“I never did such a thing.” Elara’s voice broke, disbelief and fury threading through it. Her nails bit into her palms, crimson welling beneath her claws.
“Enough!” Xander’s command cracked like thunder through the chamber. His aura—thick and suffocating—rolled over every wolf in the hall, the mark of an Alpha whose power came from royal blood. His eyes, glowing faintly silver, turned to the three young wolves huddled by the hearth—their children, triplets bound to his lineage.
“Tell me the truth,” he said, voice like frozen steel. “Did your mother say these things?”
The pups flinched. Zev, the eldest, swallowed hard, gaze darting between his father and Ravenna before falling to the floor. “W-we can’t say anything or… or Mother will hit us again.”
Elara’s breath caught. “You…is this that woman has taught you?”
Before she could say more, Enzo tugged at his sleeve, showing a faint bruise on his arm, the mark bluish under his pale skin. “See? Mother hit me. She said if we told Father, she’d hurt us again.”
His words fell heavy and poisonous. Elara felt the ground tilt beneath her feet. Years of love, of sacrifice, of standing against the scorn of the higher-blooded packs—all turned to dust.
“And Mother called Aunt Ravenna a… a whore,” Enzo added softly. “Father, what does that mean?”
Elara froze. The word tore something raw within her. “Enough! There is a limit to lies! Teaching pups such filth…Ravenna, do you have no fear of the Goddess’s retribution?”
“You dare lecture her?” Xander’s voice lashed out, heavy with dominance that crackled like lightning. His aura flared, and in a single violent motion, he ripped the jade talisman from Elara’s neck. The chain snapped; the glowing stone grazed her collarbone, leaving a streak of blood.
His eyes blazed with cold fury. “What a vile creature you are, Elara. You disgust me.”
Her knees weakened, but she didn’t look away.
“A stray with no lineage, no pack, no name. I should have known better than to think dragging an orphaned omega from the gutters and binding her as Luna would ever make her worthy of the Ashveil crest.” He sneered. “Look at you. A liar. A thief. A stain upon my bloodline.”
Elara stood trembling, her pain silent, her heart hollow. She saw it now—how his voice had always softened for others, never her. How the Moon Goddess herself must have turned her face away long ago.
“The necklace,” she whispered hoarsely. “It’s mine. It was given to me by the Oracle when I was a child. I only wore it again today—after twenty years—”
“Still lying?” Xander laughed bitterly, the sound void of soul. “You even dare invoke sacred gifts in your deceit.” His words turned venomous. “Perhaps it is the Goddess’s punishment that you lost our unborn pup three winters ago—and can never bear again.”
Elara’s world went still. Her wolf whimpered inside her, the ache of loss burning anew.
“I’ve tolerated your presence long enough,” Xander said coldly. “Today, you’ll understand what it means to lose what you hold dearly. Bring me the black urn—the one she guards like her life.”
Elara’s blood turned to ice. “No…” she whispered.
A servant obeyed. The urn—a small obsidian vessel carved with silver moons—was placed in Xander’s hands. Before Elara could move, he hurled it to the floor.
CRASH.
The sacred ashes scattered across the marble, mingling with fragments of shattered moonstone. Elara fell to her knees, trembling hands reaching for the remains, for the ashes of the pup she had once carried beneath her heart. Her tears fell freely, mingling with the dust.
“Xander… it was your child too.” Her voice was hollow, broken, echoing through the silent hall.
“You killed the last of him… the last of me.”
“Shut up!” Xander roared, his voice shaking the very air, his wolf power surging so fiercely the torches flickered out. He pointed to Ravenna, who stood demurely behind him. “Apologize to her!”
Elara lifted her head, her eyes shimmering like fractured glass. When she spoke, her tone was low, calm—a blade drawn in quiet defiance.
“You dream! I will never bow to a scheming snake.”
Xander’s fury ignited. He seized her arm and dragged her through the grand hall, through the heavy doors of the fortress and out into the raging storm. The gates of the Ashveil Pack—the grandest in all of the Shadowland—loomed before them.
He flung her to the ground. “Kneel,” he ordered, voice heavy with Alpha command. “Kneel until your mind is right. You are no Luna of mine until you learn submission.”
The gates slammed shut, cutting her off from the warmth of the pack and the home she had once protected with her life.
Rain lashed against her, cold and relentless. She sat unmoving, soaked to the bone, her wolf silent and grieving within her. At last, she slid the silver band—the Luna’s binding ring—from her finger and let it fall into the mud.
“Goodbye, Xander Ashveil.” Her voice was soft, but it struck like lightning. She lifted her chin, her eyes glowing faintly gold—the mark of her suppressed Alpha blood flaring for the first time. “From now on, we are nothing but strangers.”
Lightning tore across the sky just as a pair of headlights—bright and ghostly—pierced through the storm. A sleek black carriage, powered by runic energy and moonlight, rolled to a halt before the gates.
Its door opened. A tall figure stepped out, his aura unmistakable—power thrumming like the deep pulse of the moon. His silver eyes caught hers, ancient and fierce.
Raiden Ashveil.
The exiled heir. The elder Alpha. The wolf who had abandoned his throne and vanished beyond the borders of the Shadowland.
He strode forward, the storm parting around him, his power pressing heavy upon the land. Stopping before Elara, he pulled her into his arms, holding her close, his voice low and dangerous—carrying both promise and prophecy.
“I am here,” he murmured, his eyes glowing like molten moonfire.
“To make you mine.”
